


Sweet Music

by maurquez



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maurquez/pseuds/maurquez
Summary: Or - alternatively - "Roger Fuck Guitar."[this is a four-part series now and I beg of you to not read this because you will hate me forever]





	Sweet Music

Roger was sobbing. And he was playing his guitar. Because this was a very normal thing for Roger to do.

April was a stream of colour, and he'd loved her so much that his hands grew gray and his lips turned purple and his heart was beaten black-and-blue. And then she left. Mimi was a vessel of light, and he'd loved her so much that he burnt his tongue and rendered his eyes blind and deep-fried any thought left in that empty shell he called his head. And she was on the verge of leaving him.

He shouldn't have been crying, he realised. It made sense. Why wouldn't she want to break up with him? Mimi was gorgeous and funny and sexy and  _everything,_ and Roger was... well... Roger.

It was inevitable, really. So why the fuck was he so upset about it?

A sob strangled him, and he reached for his beloved instrument. "I'm gonna _die_ ," he wailed in a tone that only the most polite individual would call singing. "And I'm getting  _dumped._ I'm so, so, so, so sad! _U-w-u!_ "  
  
It wasn't any good. Nor was any of his songs, probably because most of them were about either vorarephilia or bestiality. Or it included the non-word "uwu" in it, much like the one he'd just written. A bitter wave of resentment rose up his throat.

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his guitar to the ground in a flash of anger, scraping a small-yet-very-much-noticable dent in it. "Oh, shit... uh... I did not mean to do that."  
  
"Nah, it's fine," the guitar said, wiggling it's newly-discovered eyebrows. "After all, I do like it rough."  
  
Roger grinned. "Me _too_ ," he exclaimed proudly, but stopped in his tracks when he realised the absurdity of the situation. Was he... talking to his guitar?  _About kink?_ "Wait, hold up, uh, what the fuck?"

The guitar grinned shamelessly. "You see, I develop a sorta... face... when I get  _real_ horny. It's kinda like how you get a boner when you see Mark, you know?"  
  
"I do not- okay, maybe I do. So what, you've never gotten a hard-on before or something?" he asked, feeling  _something_ about the thought of his guitar getting excited. Roger dismissed it: curiosity, it was probably curiosity.

The guitar laughs. "Aw, believe me, I  _have._ But I'm kinda good at hidin' it and... ya know... doin' my business. But being thrown to the ground by the hottest guy you ever saw? Whoop whoop, you know what I mean? Couldn't resist."  
  
"O-okay," Roger said, all of this quite difficult to (pardon the pun) swallow. "N-now w-w-w-hat?" He couldn't tell whether he was stuttering from shock or arousment.

"I dunno," the guitar said, clearly deep in thought. "Maybe... we fuck?"

Roger groaned. "But then... then I can't make fun of Joanne for humping her AC! Or... or Mark for killing people and cumming on his camera?"  
  
"Wait, killing people?" the guitar asked. "The fuck are you talking about?"

Roger could barely get out a  _never mind._ "Uhh, uhm... wh-whatever... you know, we should just  _fuck_ already!"  
  
"Fuck yeah," the guitar said. "Let's go, bitches!"

Roger stared at him, waiting for some semblance of genitals to sprout out of him. "H-how, though?"

The guitar laughed. "You're a bottom, aren't ya? So you gotta just... stick yo' dick... in my weird hole thing."  
  
"Y-yeah, sure, whatever," Roger stammered. He quickly pulled out his dick and began shoving it recklessly inside the guitar's hole. Wrecking his favourite guitar was clearly a tomorrow problem. 

"Oh, shit!" Roger suddenly gasped. "D-dick splinters!"  
  
The guitar smirked. "Hee-hee," he said. "I'm into pain, ya feel me?"  
  
_All too well, guitar man,_ Roger thought.  _I feel you all too well._

 


End file.
